


Trauma

by ghostxzone



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Canon Gay Character, Domestic Violence, Family Issues, Fist Fights, Gay, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Other, POV Original Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 20:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16103621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostxzone/pseuds/ghostxzone
Summary: There's somethings people should never have to go through, funny how all of the things on that list seemed to happen to him.Death is a funny thing, although you don't experience it personally, everyone takes it personally.





	Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> Micah has severe anger issues, TRIGGER WARNING: domestic abuse and suicide

He pulled his arm back, his fist colliding with the face of the boy over him. The punch successfully knocking him off of Micah. The teen's hand gripped onto the shirt collar of his latest victim, his fist coming back up again. There was a glow to Micah's eyes, he was enjoying this. Micah pulled his arm back again but hesitated.   
Micah was a troubled kid, not many people really wanted to talk to him unless they had to. He got into more fights than anyone else, he instigated almost all of them. When he actually showed up to classes, he wasn’t listening. He felt like there wasn’t any reason to be there, none of it would be worth it in the end. There wasn’t a purpose to any of this. It was idiotic to spend years in a classroom, he wouldn’t live long enough for there to be an outcome for it. None of this was helping him. Micah let go of the kid he’d chosen to hit, quickly leaving the boy behind him.   
He pushes through the halls, passing by kids without a second glance, a lingering scent of cigarettes following close behind him. He was leaving. He couldn’t be here for another minute. He needed to leave. His hand finally touched the door, pushing and letting the air from outside hit him. Fresh air. He took in a sharp breath, hesitating for a moment before feeling his feet move. His foot hit the pavement, one after another, faster. He started Running. He needed to feel like he was alive. He needed to feel his heartbeat insistently against his chest, for his lungs to demand air. He kept pushing, running until his chest was burning. His legs ached, but he keeps pushing forward. He had to keep going. He kept running until the air was nonexistent until his legs dared to give out underneath him. His maroon colored hair fell into his face once again when he finally slowed down to a walk. He was heaving, gasping for air. He was exhausted, yet very much alive.  
There’s no excuse for his childish behavior. There isn’t an excuse for skipping school, nor picking fights. He treated people pretty badly, he couldn’t stop himself sometimes. He yelled, cursed, and shoved kids for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. One time he slammed some freshmen boy into a locker just because the kid gave him a nasty look. He finally stopped moving, sitting on the side curb of the street, feeling a car rush past him. His backpack laid flat on his right. This state, the state he was in, was the only time he didn’t feel empty. His hand pulled out the cigarette box from the side pouch of his tattered backpack, the other hand pulling the lighter from his back pocket. “Smoking isn’t good for you” was the only time anyone ever bothered to care about him. “A kid your age shouldn’t be addicted to those”. The smoke filled his lungs, holding for a moment before getting expelled. Dying young sounded just fine to him. He lived life without fear of dying, in fact, dying seemed like a nicer option. He kept trying to find a reason to get up in the morning, but each day it got harder to do. Another car drove past. By now the school has realized he skipped again, ran off, they probably called his dad, detention was in his future once again. Smoke filled his lungs, his brown eyes slowly closing as he let the smoke out, another car whizzing past him. This is where he wanted to be. Right on the edge. The spot where if a car lost control for a split second, he was gone. He’d gotten yelled at a few times by drivers to “get off the road”, but he liked this spot. 

By the time he checked his phone, the sun was lower in the sky. 4:46 P.M. He pushed himself to his feet, his knees aching from sitting for so long. If he didn’t go home now, he’d get dragged home anyway, so his situation was clear. He dropped his gaze, watching the ground in front of him as he walked. The street was littered in potholes. Trash is thrown on the side. Weeds had grown in the cracks. Perfect living space for him. Ugly and ruined. It took him twenty minutes to drag his feet to his front door. The TV was on, someone was already home. He could hear the laugh track from a sitcom rerun. He was home, but he couldn’t bring himself to put his hand on the door handle. His eyes were stuck to it. His reflection staring back at him. His eyes looked terrified, but his demeanor was stiff. Just as he finally worked up the courage to touch the handle, the door swung open.  
“Micah” a voice hissed at him, he could smell the alcohol on his breath from here.   
His gaze finally came up from the ground, staring directly into the eyes of his dad.   
“Fucking again? What’s wrong with you? Are you stupid? You know they said I needed to discipline you at home?” a harsh chuckle left the older mans’ lips. “I told them ‘damn right I do! Kids a piece of work, takes after his mother’ You cause me so many fucking issues, kid”. Micah felt a strong hand grip onto his arm. “You’re a pile of shit, I do so much for you and you can’t even go to fucking school” a quick and strong tug pulled the teen into the house, the door getting slammed behind him.   
“You think there’s never any consequences for your actions.” the hand let go of him.   
The situation could go two different ways. His dad would just yell at him before ignoring him all night or-  
He couldn’t even react to the fist coming at him. “Stupid. Fucking piece of shit, kid” a fist came at him from the other side. More harsh words were spewing from the old man's lips. The blows had knocked the teen over, smacking the side table. He caught himself on the edge of the burgundy table. “Fuck you.” A rough hand grabbed his hair, pulling his head back before roughly slamming it against the table he was holding onto. Blood was flowing from his nose, he could taste it. He was on the ground, using one hand to push himself back up while the other went to stop the blood from getting all over his clothes. “Don’t get back up!” the teens' eyes shot up to glare down the man standing above him. “Tough guy?” his dads foot quickly connected with his jaw, knocking him over again. Usually, this would be the end of this, he’d get his few hits in and be done with him, but he seemed to be a little angrier tonight. The rough hand grabbed the collar of his shirt, a fist pulling back and hitting him again and again and again and again. He couldn’t pull away, the hand on his shirt was holding him still. There was one final blow before the hand let him go, his body falling back to the ground. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed there, laying on the dirty old floor.  
He was numb. He could barely feel the pain from the beating. His mind was blank, he couldn’t even hear the TV anymore. The world was mute, colorless. There was nothing amazing about it. It was horrible, disgusting, bland. The teen pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. He caught sight of himself in the foggy mirror above the side table. He looked so disgusting. Bruises quickly forming, his lip busted open. He quickly left the house, his feet taking him...somewhere. He wanted a cigarette- no he wanted to get wasted. He wanted to lose himself completely. He wanted to drink so much he forgot who he even was. He wanted to die, to simply not exist anymore. Not like anyone would notice if he stopped showing up places. The night was cold, he could see his breath every time he exhaled, but the cold didn’t seem to touch his skin- if it did, he wasn’t feeling it. Was he going anywhere? Maybe he was just walking in circles and he just didn’t know it. When he looked up finally, he honestly had no idea where he was. He’d never walked here before. How long was he even walking for? His phone was in his backpack, which was on the front steps of his house right now, so he didn’t know what time it was. This is when he realized he was shivering. The noises that made the small town home finally reached his ears again, hearing a car alarm go off not too far away. His nose isn't bleeding anymore, the blood had dried up. There was faint sound of music was coming from a few houses down. He turned his head to look, seeing every light possible on in one house, the rest of the street was dark. A party. A party meant booze. What happened in the time between realizing there was a party and when beer was in his hand was a complete mystery. He was slumped against the couch, finishing off any drink someone handed him. He was gone. The familiar burn of alcohol on his throat was comforting in the strangest sense. He didn’t drink to have fun or to rebel like most kids currently in the house. He needed this.   
Eventually though, if you drink a lot, you’re going to have to pee, so he stumbled up the stairs, holding the railing. At the top of the steps was a hallway, three doors were closed, one was open. Which one was the bathroom again? Second door on the right? First on the left? He closed his eyes to try and concentrate on the conversation he only had moments before, but the memory was gone. Instead of asking again, he simply decided to check each door until he found the one he was looking for. His hand went to the first door on the right, turning the knob and opening the door to find a bedroom. Nope, wrong one. So he went to the first door on the left, finding another bedroom. Wrong again. He reached the third door and opened it. HA! The bathroom! The door opened all the way. His eyes fell to the tile. Someone was in the bathroom. The amount of blood covering the floor, but hadn't made it to the carpet on the other side of the door, was alarming.   
“Oh my god” the words left his mouth before his brain processed what he was even looking at. “Please don’t be dead” his voice was shaking, he lurched forward, flipping the limp body over. His blood ran cold. No need to check for a pulse.  
He’d shot himself. How come no one heard anything? Nothing? Was anyone looking for this kid? He was shaking, paralyzed in his place. The blood had started to soak into his already stained clothes. He was screaming. He knew because his vocal cords were strained and his mouth was open and clearly noise was leaving his mouth because soon people were rushing up the stairs. “Don’t die” he was muttering, pulling off his shirt to cover the gaping head wound from where the bullet exited. “Please don’t die”. The scene was horrific, someone called 911, he wasn’t sure when, but he heard the sirens coming closer.   
“Micah, C'mon man just step away from him” some kid who had been smoking weed since Micah had gotten there was speaking to him now.   
“He’ll die if I move” tears were falling down his face, he wanted to do something.  
“Micah he’s already dead…”  
What happened next was blurred in his mind, he didn’t remember how he got to the hospital. Micah came too when a Women lightly touched his shoulder, causing him to flinch back to reality.   
“Sorry, dear, but you look a little beat up yourself so we’d like to do a checkup.” Her tone was soft and smooth, what Micah had imagined a mother would sound like. The teen blinked a few times to get out of his head, looking away from the doctor.   
“I think I’m okay, so no thanks.” he could barely hear himself, he had no idea how this lady did. The nice doctor left him in the chair, her footsteps were the last thing he remembered hearing before blacking out again. He never went unconscious, his body was perfectly fine, but his mind had left the building. It was hours before anyone came to talk to him again, it seemed like everyone was simply leaving him alone. Not like he was harming himself or others he was just...sitting there, not moving. His breathing was even, he was staring at the portrait posted on the wall across from him, but not moving. This time it wasn’t a doctor that touched him, it was a police officer.   
“Son?” Micah’s head turned, but the blank look was still present in his eyes. “Son I’m gonna have to ask you a few questions, okay?” everyone was being so nice. Too nice. They were walking on eggshells around him like he’d snap and do something horrible if they used the wrong tone.   
“Okay.” The teen finally spoke, shifting over slightly so the cop could sit as well.   
“Did you know the victim?” the officer didn’t dare touch him, he left a good amount of distance between their bodies. Micah’s clothes were stained in blood, his own and the kids.   
“Not exactly, never talked much” his hands were shaking, actually his whole body was trembling. He knew the guy was still asking questions, but he just couldn’t remember what questions were asked or how he answered.   
“What’s your name, son?”   
“Micah.”  
“Can I offer you a ride home, Micah?”  
“No.”   
His eyes fixated on the portrait again, the detail in the brushstrokes intrigued him.   
“No?” the answer seemed to throw the officer off guard.   
“No.” he repeated himself. Time felt like it was moving slowly as the world stopped spinning for just a moment. A hand was placed on his shoulder and suddenly other cops were bolting towards him. Micah's fist collided with the cops nose. He didn’t remember fighting when they went to arrest him, but according to the records, he did. He apparently had kicked an officer and headbutted another before they got him to calm down. But Micah's’ world had gone black once again.   
He was running, he didn’t recognize the place, but he knew he needed to run. He had to get somewhere. He was running out of time. He chest burned, begging him to take a break, but he had to keep going. He had to. It felt like he’d been running for hours, his legs ached and threatened to give out under him, but he had to keep going. The door didn’t seem to get any closer though, in fact, the more he ran the further away it got. He pushed and pushed to continue running forward, he could make it. He just needed to push a little harder! His foot landed on the wooden floor, then his knee. His legs had given out and he smacked the hard floor, looking up at his destination in defeat. Blood was flowing out from behind the door, he hadn’t made it in time. He lost.  
His eyes shot open, waking up in a panic. His heart was racing, his body drenched in a cold sweat. Micah looked around his surroundings. He was in a holding cell, which wasn’t exactly something new to him. Micah swung his legs over, his feet touching the cold floor as he sat up. After the nights' events, his entire body was sore. Every muscle aches and begs to never be moved again.   
“Morning.” A familiar sounding cop said softly, the rattling of keys going into a lock was heard before the cell door swung open.   
“Morning” The teen muttered, standing up to make eye contact with the officer. He was the one who spoke with him at the hospital.  
“Legally we held you for underage drinking, but…” the cops eyes trailed over Micah's beaten body. “Didn’t seem like you wanted to go back home.” He’d played this game before, a cop offered him help, got his hopes up, and it always failed in the end.   
“Just had a bad day.” his eyes focused on the ground. “Am I free to go?”   
“Yeah.”   
With that, Micah left the station, walking away without looking back. 

He woke up, covering his eyes with his forearm. Micah slept on a local park bench, the last minute decision the night before. He refused to go back home and couldn’t find someone's house to crash at. He needed to sleep, so he crashed on a bench. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t the worst thing to sleep on. The teens head was pounding, hangovers weren’t new to him. Since that night, he hadn’t spent much time sober. His mind kept remembering that scene. The blood, the wound, the way parents and classmates cried and mourned. The mother had thanked him, she thanked him for finding him. Who would thank him for that? He wanted to go off, explain that death wasn’t “thank you” worthy, but her eyes were so sad. The boys' dad refused to even look at the body to identify it. The whole thing made him think harder than he had before. Was death really this bad? When he died, would some poor person find his mangled body? Could he do that to someone? Make them feel the way he was right now? He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. Everything was triggering the memory back. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was that gaping head wound.   
He pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before letting them adjust to the sunlight. There were a few kids out playing with their parents, being kept away from the weird kid sleeping on a bench. The bruises from his last encounter with his dad had finally stopped aching, now they were just nasty bruises. He hadn’t showered in days. His hair was greasy, standing up in every direction. Micah looked homeless. He reached for his box of cigarettes, opening it to realize, he’d run out.   
“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath. He didn’t have the cash to buy any more at the moment and he was itching for a fix. He smoked more than usual the past few days. Micah stood up, tossing the empty box in the closest garbage can, facing defeat. 

“FUCK” his voice echoed down the empty hallway, his fist colliding with the locker door repeatedly. “FUCK FUCK FUCK” he kept yelling, his hands stung.   
“Micah!” a teachers voice called for him, “stop that!”   
He turned around fury behind his eyes. “Fucking make me.” he threw his own cell-phone at her, watching her dodge it. He knew it was definitely cracked, but he couldn’t find any care for it. The schools' security guard was on him in seconds, but this redhead wasn’t going down without a fight.  
“GET OFF ME.”  
teachers heads popped out from classrooms, trying to keep the students inside the rooms. His hits seemed sporadic and uncalculated, but every hit landed. This seemed to anger the guard, cause he got more aggressive with the teenager. No one could seem to hold the students back, everyone wanted to watch Micah get himself into a lot of trouble. The guard couldn’t keep a grip on him, he kept slipping through his grasp, causing someone to actually call 911.   
One student though, Warren, was a hero-type. He stepped in the middle of a lot of things he really shouldn’t, he wanted to be the hero in the story. He always wiggled himself to be apart of any kind of conflict, wanting to fix it. This was the student that put his hand on Micah's shoulder. The panic that surged through him was physically evident, his eyes went narrow in anger to wide in panic. His focus switched from keeping the guard at a distance, to grabbing at the person who dared to touch him. In a split second, he managed to flip this poor kid right over his shoulder. Seeing the vulnerability of the student now on the ground made a sense of relief go up his spine. He bent his knee, bringing his foot up above Warren, and in one swift movement, brought his foot back down. Connecting his heel with his ribs, repeatedly. Micah kept going until he was tackled by a police officer, knocking him to the ground. 

 

Suspended, again. His knuckles were starting to bruise, the voices around him fading off. The principle was scolding him again. The world around him didn’t feel real, everything felt like a surreal dream. You know those dreams where you’re aware you’re dreaming? Lucid dreaming? Was he doing that? He pinched his arm. He could feel the slight sting, so he was awake. Then why did it not feel real? Micah couldn’t feel his body, it felt like he wasn’t physically there in his body. He was watching himself from a third person, from the outside. That’s what it felt like. The world around him was silent and boring once again, time moving past him, leaving him behind.   
Why did he keep feeling this? He felt like most of his life was lived in this weird and off state. Did this happen to anyone else? Was he even alive if this was how he lived? Someone once told him the term used for this.  
“It’s common in people who have gone through traumas”   
Trauma. A weird concept. What counted as a trauma? Was the human brain designed to work through those traumas? Funny how issues always crept up on you, they always lurked, waiting to make you fall into the past all over again.   
Suddenly Micah wasn’t in the small, cramped, office space anymore.

“Dad?”  
“What”   
“Why is mommy not here anymore?”  
“Cause you killed her.”

“I didn’t even want you.”

“You get hit because it’s what you deserve for being so fucking annoying, Micah.”

“Hey, kid? Can you hear me? You’re gonna be okay, you scared us back there…”

“Hello, I’m from child protective services.”

“Not guilty, case dismissed.”

“He’s already dead.”

“Micah?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Are you listening to me?”  
“What?”  
“Did you hear what I said?”  
“No…”  
“We called your dad.”

His entire world seemed to go dark. Did he hear them correctly? Did they just make this whole situation worse?   
They eventually left him alone in the office, having to talk to the other student. They wanted to make sure Micah hadn’t hurt him too badly, which he knew he didn’t. Although he wasn’t worried about how badly he roughed him up, he was worried about the fact he did hit him. He inflicted pain onto someone else. Why did he always resort to that? He knows what’s on the other side of those fists, yet he kept ending up being the person behind the fists. Worthless.  
Worthless didn’t come close to how he felt. Calling himself worthless was a compliment. He didn’t deserve to be remembered or even thought about. He didn’t deserve to be a glint in his mothers' eyes. He deserved nothing life had to offer.   
“Micah?” the soft tone came from the door, causing his head to turn around to see who it belonged to.   
“You’re dad’s here.” her tone was too soft to say something as horrible as that.   
“Okay…”   
He stood up, but couldn’t feel his legs. He knew he was walking, but he couldn’t feel that. He passed the door frame, going from the sheltered room to the open air of the office. His dads' eyebrows were bunched up in a heavy frown. Micah was shaking, visibly shaking, as he got closer to the only blood-related relative he knew of.   
“Son.”   
“Dad.”

Have you ever lived a moment in the third person? 

His fingers went numb, his mind went blank. He was basically a puppet being controlled by someone else. He felt trapped. Not only by the doors keeping them inside but by his own body. His brain felt stuck inside his head like it wanted to run, but couldn’t. He could hear his heart beat hard against his eardrums. He was hyper-aware of the sounds inside his body like his mind knew that hiding was easier than facing the threat.

Everyone tells you about fight or flight, but have you heard of freeze? 

He knew he could fight his threat head on or he could run away, but that’s not what he did. Everyone expected Micah to have some violent outburst, or react in some way at least. But Micah simply stood there. His eyes stared forward, not looking at, but staring through the man standing before him. His feet had stopped pushing him forward, he went still.   
“Micah?”   
His eyes slowly moved to look at the face the voice came from.  
“Honey, are you okay?”

“Wait up!”   
“Hurry up slowpoke! You’re so slow! I don’t want to miss it!” the sounds of music started getting louder, people laughing, cheering, positivity was in the air. “C’mon, the float is gonna be here soon!”   
Micah's’ eyes landed on a float, bigger than the rest, his legs slowing to a stop. It looked like it never ended, extending into the sky. The colors lit up his dull world. Flowers drifted off of it, one brushing against his cheek. One of the actors on the float waved at him before lightly tossing something to him, watching to make sure it was grabbed by the right kid. Micah's fingers gripped around it, holding it close.   
“Take good care of it!” he heard, looking up to see the man giving him a thumbs up. Without thinking, Micah returned the action, holding his busted hand up to the sky.   
“I told you…”  
“Yeah…”  
“It’s safe here.”

He closed his fist, trying to remember the feeling of the beaten up toy in his grasp, but it was long gone. 

“Let go of the damn thing! Listen to me! Look at me!”  
“No- stop- give it back!”

His heart started racing.

“Fucking let go of it, Micah!”

It felt like the world crashed around him. 

Watching the toy fly right out the window, never to be held again.

“Can I drive home?” his voice was off. Micah spoke in a specific way, every word he spoke was well calculated, thought-over, and said with walls built all around it. This tone wasn’t the kid they brought to the office.   
“Why?”   
“You promised.” that was a lie, his dad never said anything about driving, but if he said anything here, in front of witnesses, the cover would be blown.  
“Might as well.” his dad's voice was hard, daring for Micah to continue playing this game.   
“Thanks, dad.” there was a glint in his eyes, it was small, sudden, but there. He never referred to that monster as his father. He’d die before calling that man something so special. 

“Hey-” Micah was stopped by Warren, who was holding his ribs but didn’t seem too phased.   
“Yeah?” he wasn’t sure why this guy was speaking to him, he just beat the shit out of him. He should be angry with him, so why did he look so...so… apologetic…?  
“Sorry, didn’t mean to make anything worse. Anyway, I’ll see you when you come back? So I’ll see you then!” Warren flashed a smile, one that was full from someone living an easy life.   
The normal response is to say “see ya” right back, but Micah stood up straighter, making sure his tone would be even.   
“Goodbye.”   
The full smile wavered. Micah turned back, leaving the office and exiting the school. For the first time in what felt like years, he was grounded, he could feel the way his heart beat in his chest, how his lunged filled with air, how his feet touched the bottom of his worn-out shoes, the way his shirt clung to his chest, the way the wind blew through his hair, all of it. He felt like a person, a human being.   
“Fucker, you’re not driving.” The old man muttered, glaring when Micah went to the driver's seat. “Think I trust you with my car? Get in the other side.”   
“Give me the keys.”   
“Walk home for all I care.”  
“Give me the keys” his eyes glanced back, pretending like the school had working cameras in the parking lot ( a safety precaution most schools had, but his school didn’t quite get there yet.)   
“Whatever.” He tossed the keys, Micah catching them. The maroon haired boy opened the door, smelling the old cigarettes as he sat down. He buckled, put the keys in the ignition, put the car in drive, and went. He wasn’t a bad driver, he knew all the rules, stopped at all the red lights and went the speed limit, so for Micah to press on the gas was an out of character.   
“Slow down-” his dad’s tone was daring, one he used right before beating the shit out of him for being a smartass, he was daring Micah to wreck this car, to face the consequences. His foot pressed down more, not bothering to look at anything other than the road, his hands at ten and two.   
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He sped past many cars, although being reckless, he never put anyone else in danger. The freeway was so freeing. Riding 80 MPH, flying past cars, people, scenery.   
“Wreck this car and I’ll fucking kill you.” there was a glint in his eyes, finally glancing over to his dad, giving a wide smirk.   
“Is that a threat or a promise?” Just as he expected, his dad brought a hand up to smack him. But before the hand reached him, Micah sharply turned the steering wheel.

Have you ever been so angry you blacked out? Where you woke up and your throat was aching from screaming? Where you woke up with bruised knuckles and holes in the walls? The kind of anger that takes over your entire body, where it feels like its corrupting your bloodstream. The anger that causes you to suddenly snap. The anger that makes every muscle tense up, feeling the emotion radiate off of your skin. The anger that makes your stomach twist into a knot. The anger that makes your chest tighten up, so you feel like you can’t breathe.   
Have you?

The anger that's so indescribable. People call you psychotic, abusive, crazy. The anger that makes others whisper about you. The anger that makes you do “crazy things” and everyone mumbles about it for the rest of your life. A fit of anger that takes over your entire life, where you learn to live in anger. Lemme tell you, living your entire life with anger running through your veins, isn’t a walk in the park. You have to pretend it’s not there, so you don’t come off as rude. You have to push it away, pretend it doesn’t exist. Ignore it. Watch it slowly build in the back of your mind until there’s too much to ignore, and all you can do is watch it spill right out of you. All you can do is listen to the words slip out of your mouth, watch your actions play out, and watch everything gets regurgitated right back up. You know what you’re saying, but have no control over saying it. To listen to such horrible words slip past your own lips, being unable to pull them back in. It’s not what you meant, it’s not what you wanted to say, but it’s what came out. The anger that made you cuss out someone you love for being a few minutes late… 

He could hear the horn blaring, the airbag had gone off in his face, glass covering the entire dash. 

Dissociation, that’s the term she used.   
“The disconnection or separation of something from something else or the state of being disconnected.”   
Symptoms and signs of dissociative disorders depend on the type and severity but may include:  
Feeling disconnected from yourself.  
Problems with handling intense emotions.  
Sudden and unexpected shifts in mood – for example, feeling very sad for no reason.  
Depression or anxiety problems, or both.  
Causes: Most mental health professionals believe that the underlying cause of dissociative disorders is chronic trauma in childhood. Examples of trauma included repeated physical or sexual abuse, emotional abuse or neglect.

“Oh my god-” 

It’s truly surprising how much the human brain can handle, how easy it is for the brain to shut down, to protect itself. 

“Hey, kid, are you alright?” Micah’s eyes fluttered, blinking a few times to make the image in front of him become clear.   
“Someone call an ambulance! Hey? Can you hear me?” He knew the voice, the face, the person that was pulling his seatbelt off. His head faltered slightly before he managed to nod.  
“Okay, that’s good…” he was so calm, why was he calm? “Can I touch you?”   
His brain snapped back. What was he just asked? What did he just say to him?  
“Micah, stay with me…can I touch you? You have to get out of the car…” his eyes scanned the others face, watching the way his brow curled in worry, but his eyes stayed calm. Micah flexed his fingers, feeling them move, testing to make sure he was living still.  
“Yeah.” he choked out, looking down at himself finally, he was covered in glass.   
“Okay… okay…” the kid mumbled softly, slowly leaning over. His arms hooked around Micah, slowly pulling his body from the totaled car. “You have to tell me what hurts, okay? Someone already called for help, paramedics should be here soon, okay?” he kept looking down at Micah, looking for some kind of reassurance that Micah even knew what he was talking about. “Do you remember what happened?”  
“Yeah.”   
“Okay...I’m gonna set you down now…” the boy slowly lowered Micah to the ground, laying him down flat on the gravel. “Tell me what happened, test your memory...I think that’s what they do on the TV shows…” he chuckled. He chuckled in a situation like this. Micah was about to throw a fit, get on this guys case for laughing when he just crashed the car in a suicide attempt. But he got a wave of calm instead. He was just trying to keep him calm.   
“I crashed,” he mumbled, holding a hand above his face to see the damage. He’d never seen so many cuts concentrated on such a small portion of his body.   
“What caused the crash?”  
“I did.”  
The answer made the smile fall. “What do you mean?”  
Micah looked away. “I knew what I was doing. I’m sober, the car didn’t have any mechanical problems, there wasn’t anyone else on the road…”   
“You want to die?”   
Micah didn’t answer. Did he? He didn’t even know...What was he trying to get out of this?   
“Answer me…” The voice reeked of desperation. He needed this answer.  
“Probably.”   
“I was worried about that when you said Goodbye to me instead.” 

Worried? Who would worry about him? Who took the time to notice things to be worried about?   
“Why worry about it?” the question came out before he could stop it, he was curious. The question made Warren’s brow curl again.   
“Cause you want to take your own life, why wouldn’t I be worried about that?” His voice was soft, even, comforting. It was everything Micah ever needed.   
“You don’t even know me.”  
“So that makes your life worthless?”  
“My life is meaningless because of who I am, anyone that knows me is well aware of that fact.” why did he just say that? Why would he bluntly admit that to someone he didn’t even know?  
“Well I don’t think you’re life is meaningless.” It was a simple, but effective response, because it made a lump form in the teen's throat. The adrenaline was wearing off, his entire body aches, he’s shaking.   
“Hey, hey, just breathe, okay?” Warrens hand lightly touched his, only grasping onto it when Micah didn’t seem to resist. “I got you.”  
He felt the tears run down the side of his face, leaving streaks of clean skin for proof of their existence, washing the blood off. The sirens were getting closer, more people had stopped and gathered around. Was his dad okay? Had he killed him? Oh god, he probably killed him.   
“Micah, you’re hyperventilating, what’s wrong?” Warrens eyes were wide, funny how he could easily express such deep emotions and Micah couldn’t.   
“Is he-?” he tried to push himself up, he couldn’t fucking breath. “Is-” god it felt like something was crushing his chest like someone gripped on his lungs and crushed his windpipe. “Did I-?”   
“No, he’s not dead…” Warrens voice was quiet, hushed down so only Micah was hearing him. “Just passed out. He’s right over there.” He pointed off to the left, Micah didn’t bother looking. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but...I have to tell them what caused the accident, I can’t just...ignore that, Micah.”  
“Don’t-” his hand gripped the other's arm, “don’t you fucking dare…”   
“If you’re suicidal-”  
“I’m not!”  
“You just-”  
“Wanting to be dead and being suicidal are completely different. Don’t accuse me of something like that, I’d never kill myself. That doesn’t resolve anything.”   
He hadn’t noticed the ambulance or police until both were standing over him.   
“You seem to get in a lot of trouble, kid” The soft voice came from above, his eyes finding the cop who had arrested him a few weeks prior.   
“Just my luck,” he muttered, his eyes darting towards the paramedic bending down. It was Warren that spoke first.  
“I would be careful touching him…” he said softly, holding a hand out in a protective manner. “He’s not good with touch.” Funny how easily he’d picked that up, all from how Micah reacted to how he’d touched him earlier. “Talk to him first.”  
“I don’t need you to baby me,” Micah muttered, almost offended at the way Warren implied he was fragile. “I’m fine with touch, don’t pretend to know me.”  
“Micah-” Warren cut himself off, pulling his arm back, letting the paramedic have access to the boy on the ground. 

Micah tried to hold back how uncomfortable he was with how the paramedic poked and prodded him.   
“The Name’s Andrew, you can call me Andy.” He said, trying to ease the obvious tension Micah was currently pretending wasn’t there.  
“I’m just going to check your vitals,” he said before placing his fingers to Micah's wrist, everyone saw how quickly Micah pulled away. “Does it hurt?” He asked.  
“Yeah, everything does.” The teen muttered. The paramedic waited a second before trying again. It took about 45 minutes before the paramedic helped Micah sit up.  
“I want to bring you to the hospital still.” 

By the time he was wheeled in on the gurney, he almost wished he had just died in the crash so he didn’t have to deal with the idiocy of those around him. It was a bad day and people kept poking at him, asking if it hurt as if he didn’t drive straight into the traffic barrier. It was irritating, to say the least, so when this poor intern kept freezing up to think of the next step, he felt that familiar boil in his veins.  
“Relax, dude, you’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm”  
“Not quite how that works,” Micah muttered back at Warren, who was watching the monitors closely. Every blip in Micah's heart rate at all and he was word vomiting positivity all over him. The intern poked him with the needle again, missing once again.  
“Ow! Fuck!” Micah yelled, slapping at the hand finally, the monitor beeping in protest. “You can’t do it, so don’t, stop fucking poking me!” usually hospitals were the one place he refused to start fights at, considering hospitals were the only safe place he had growing up, but he kept defying his own rule.   
“He was trying-”   
“He tried five times if I wanted to get stabbed by needles all night I would’ve done something more exciting than this.” The teen had tried to convince Warren to leave all night long, but the guy refused to move further than a few feet away from him. Even if he had to pee, Micah had to continue talking, so he knew he was still alive. Even then, he left the door open. Micah stopped bothering after the third bathroom break.   
“So you’ve tried hard drugs?” Warrens concerned voice was showing up again, causing Micah to feel guilty about making a remark about something like that.  
“No…nothing like that.”  
“So you’ve done stuff?”  
“Who hasn’t?”  
“I haven’t, that stuff can mess you up.”  
“Life, in general, can mess you up, you think people try those things because they weren’t messed up?   
“Do you think you’re messed up?”  
“I don’t think anything, it’s obvious! I just crashed a fucking car on purpose! Don’t you think I’m messed up?”  
“I think you got dealt a bad hand.”  
“You should write poetry.”   
“I don’t know your life story, I’m not going to pretend like I do, but-”  
“Then don’t pretend like you do.” Micah cut him off, throwing the conversation in the trash and setting it on fire to make sure it couldn’t come back.   
“So what have you tried?”  
“Wait for the tox screen like everyone else.”  
Eventually, Warren had turned on the TV because Micah was getting too worked up talking to the doctors and police officers, changing the channel if the show got bland or too intense.   
“Background noise” he had said when Micah asked about it. The noise drowned out everything else, and eventually, the days' events took its toll. Micah fell asleep. Sleeping wasn’t an easy task for him. He only slept through the entire night if he was too drunk to remember anything. He avoided sleep for as long as possible, he hated sleeping because he hated dreaming. Anyone would if they only ever had nightmares. When he was younger he once tried to confide in his father about these dreams, but he only reinforced the fears to scare Micah. He never spoke to anyone else about them after that. 

“HEY! HEY! CALM DOWN! YOU’RE FINE! I GOT YOU. I got you.” Micah felt tears streaming down his face, letting out a sob as he latched onto the closest warmth he could find. He felt his head get pulled against a chest, arms wrapped around him, and the soft “shhhh” coming from Warren. “It’s okay, you’re fine…”   
The room was pitch black, the TV now turned off, the moon high in the sky, everyone else fast asleep in the other rooms. The only movement was the rocking back and forth Warren was doing to try and soothe Micah down from whatever he had dreamt about.   
“It was just a dream, you’re okay, I got you…” a soft hand started combing through his hair. Micah couldn’t seem to find his voice, all he could do was hold on tightly to the arms restricting him. He wasn’t sure when he cried himself right back to sleep, but when he woke up, he was still wrapped up tightly in Warrens' arms.

It took a few weeks before Micah was cleared, but not allowed to leave until a parent signed the forms. His dad was actually injured in the crash and was still unconscious for the most part.  
“Can you tell us his name?”  
“Wallace.”  
“Last name?”  
“Barnes.”  
“Address?”  
“893 gold leaf lanes, Argos”  
“Date of birth?”  
“September 30th, 1961…”  
“Oh, he’s a Libra!”  
Eventually, He managed to forge the signature and make it look like his dad actually signed, so he was free to leave. The nurses had taken a liking to him, they snuck him snacks, gossiped with him, one even offered to clean up his haircut. So when he announced he was being discharged, several of them gathered to group hug him, telling him to stay safe on the roads.  
“If I see you in here again, I’ll kill you.”  
Warren had made a habit of visiting a lot, practically every day after school. He dropped off Micah's homework, which still wasn’t done, would tell him stories he didn’t really care for, and would stay until visiting hours were up. He would force Micah to sit in the wheelchair when he wanted food from the cafeteria, insisting that he should “take it easy”. If Micah had to pee, Warren was right outside the door, ready to jump in if anything happened. It was like having a needy puppy constantly chewing on your pant leg. What was surprising though, was how unannoyed Micah was the whole time. Instead of yelling or lashing out, he accepted the nuisance. Every now-and-then Warren would blabber on for hours when Micah was trying to get some sleep, which made Micah say something along the lines of, “dude, oh my god, shut up.” but that was...surprisingly the worst thing he’d said to him. He pushed it off as feeling bad for kicking him so many times that day.   
He assumed that once he was discharged, Warren would leave him alone, but he didn’t. He planned it out so he’d be out of the hospital before school got out, wanting to avoid the other at all costs today. What no one told him though, was that school was out for the rest of the week. Micah forgot that holidays existed, and most people actually celebrated them. Which meant, Warren was there to see him extra early, planning on spending the entire day. He even brought some food for him, apparently, his mother made extra just for this.   
“Oh! You get to go home today?”  
“Yeah…”   
“Got any Thanksgiving plans?”  
Micah paused if he said no...was Warren gonna-? “No.”  
“Do you want to?” Micah’s guess was correct. He could smell the food, it was overwhelming. It didn’t have the smell fast food places had, and it wasn’t stolen or fished out of the dumpster after hours, it wasn’t old and cold, it was homemade. He couldn’t refuse this offer, no matter how badly he tried to.  
“Are you asking me to join you?”  
“Yeah, only if you want to! My family is okay with it, the more the merrier, right? Plus you can just stay in my room if there are too many people for you, I have video games and Netflix and all that, If you want I’ll hang out with you too, or I can leave you alone? Or-” Warren stopped when he heard the sharp intake of breath, looking down at the maroon haired boy now crying, once again.   
“Yeah,” Micah said, trying to hide his tear-filled eyes, but they managed to fall anyway.  
“I’m sorry!” Warren panicked, “You don’t have to! I’m just offering and-”  
“No- I mean, I wanna go. If it’s not any trouble.”  
“Of course it’s no trouble…” Warrens smile spread across his face, happiness glowing in his eyes. 

The car he drove wasn’t what would’ve expected from someone who looked like Warren. He assumed he drove a truck, maybe some fancier car, but this beat up old hummer? Wasn’t even close.   
“I promise she’s safe” Warren chuckled softly. “I fixed her up myself!” verbally patting himself on the back. Micah slid into the passenger seat, buckling up. The inside was spotless, no garbage in sight, no loose change. There was a new air freshener hanging on the vent, but that was the only thing out of place.   
“Ah, sorry, you can move the seat back if you’re too cramped…”   
“No, I’m okay.” 

The drive was smooth, the scenery was the same, but Warren kept getting excited about something he saw outside, pointing it out and going on a long ramble about it. His voice filled the silence since Micah currently wasn’t speaking.   
“If you want to change or shower, you can, we can stop by your house? Or you could shower at mine? Borrow my clothes?” Micah felt sick at the idea of Warren seeing the way he lived. Just based off of his car alone, it was obvious Warren wouldn’t belong in such a gross place.   
“Just go to your place,” he mumbled, speaking for the first time the entire ride.   
“Okay!”  
Eventually, the car stopped in front of a small home, cars lined up down the street.   
“Home sweet home!” the brunette said as he unbuckled, flashing Micah a reassuring smile.  
“What if they ask how we met?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Do I tell them that I’m the kid who hit you?”  
The car went silent. Micah was staring out the window at the house filled with people.   
“No, they think you’re a school friend, we met in class…”   
So Warren was already lying for him, covering up the horrible person Micah really was.  
“Do they know about the accident?”  
“Yeah, I didn’t say what caused the accident though…just that you were the driver…” 

Warren had offered to go in through the back door, so Micah didn’t get ambushed by his family.   
“No, it's fine.” Micah had said, but after walking into the house and having several pairs of eyes looking at him, he wasn’t sure this was going to be fine. He felt like an animal at the zoo, being stared at through the glass. People wanted to observe him, but never interact.   
“Is this the boy?” a middle-aged woman said, Warren had her eyes.   
“Yes, Micah, meet my mom. Mom, meet Micah.” his hand gesturing between the two. Micah prepared for a handshake, maybe a touch on the arm or even a hug of some kind, but she didn’t do anything. She smiled at him.   
“Nice to meet you! Please make yourself at home.”   
After the crash course of who was who, Micah was left alone for a minute. Warren had to use the bathroom and Micah insisted that he wouldn’t die if Warren used the bathroom. There was Warren’s parents, his mom’s brother and sister, two sets of grandparents, four cousins, and two nephews- one was a baby, the other was a grumpy preteen. He was surprised all of them even fit in the house. The adults spent a lot of the time in the living room, three teenagers were in the kitchen, the younger kids were ruining the leaf piles outside, then there was Micah. Micah was observing in the corner, in the perfect spot to see into the kitchen and living room and out the window to the backyard. This was a family. He tried to imagine himself being apart of something like this, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even pretend, he felt so out of place. He didn’t deserve something like this.   
“Everything okay?” The voice startled Micah out of his pity trance, looking over to see Warrens worried eyes again.   
“Yeah, nice family ya got here.”  
“They drive me crazy sometimes…” his tone suggested he didn’t want to continue on this topic. “You’re not overwhelmed are you?” Micah thought for a moment. Was he? He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.   
“A bit…”  
“My room?”  
“Yeah…”   
He knew better than to blindly trust someone, but he couldn’t help himself sometimes. He crumbled under soft touches and kindness. Warrens room was small, barely big enough to fit the mattress and dresser, but that wasn’t the surprising part. The walls were bare.   
“You can sit on the bed, remotes on the dresser…” his hand gesturing from the bed to the dresser and back. The brunette spoke a lot with his hands, that was easy to pick up on.   
“Okay.” Micah suddenly got a nagging itch. He needed a smoke.   
“Just open the window… Mom is a stickler about cigarettes…” The other's hand went to his back pocket, pulling out a new carton and tossing it onto the bed. “I took a guess, hope those are okay.” Micah insisted Warren left the room so he didn’t have to smell the smoke, but Warren kept insisting he was fine. It seemed like most of their conversations was Micah trying to convince Warren to leave and warren trying to convince Micah to let him stay. Usually, he’d be annoyed by such a clash, the constant nagging of worry, but he couldn’t even pretend to be pissed about this. He propped the window open, sitting at the end of the bed, Warren sitting on the dresser. The room went awkwardly silent, what did they even have in common? Could they even hold a real conversation together?   
“So…” Warren started, Micah lighting the cigarette. “Why do you pick fights with people?” Micah coughed, smoke pouring from his throat. That wasn’t what he was expecting. Maybe “what’s your favorite color?” or something.   
“What?” he choked out after his coughing fit.   
“I’ve watched you pick fights with a lot of guys, usually every few weeks…” he mumbled, looking away. Micah could see the blush slowly grow darker. “I’m not stalking you or anything! Just, something I observed…but suddenly you were fighting with someone almost everyday… that’s why I butt in… probably not my best idea, but…” he trailed off.  
“I’m angry…” the answer came out quicker than he anticipated. He put the cancer stick to his lips again, inhaling deeply.  
“All the time?” There was that worried tone again. He let the smoke slowly leave his lungs,  
“Pretty much.”   
“That’s no way to live…” Micah didn’t verbally respond, he gave a small shrug, a hand gesture, and a slight glance in Warrens general direction seemed to be enough.   
“That can’t be your only reason?”  
“For fighting? It is-”  
“Not for that!” The voice raise made Micah flinch, nearly dropping the burning stick in his hand. His entire body instantly tensed up. He willed himself to not react like this, so physically. The room went silent again.   
“So it’s all just because you’re angry…” his voice dropped several decimals, he was practically whispering.  
“Yeah.” he fidgeted with the cigarette, taking a long drag to ease his nerves.  
“What are you so angry about?”  
“Everything,” he muttered after blowing the smoke out of the window. The answer seemed to drop the conversation, after that he asked the normal questions.  
“Favorite color?”  
“Red?”  
“You don’t sound confident in that” Warren laughed.  
“I’ve never thought about it.” Micah said defensively. After a few minutes, Micah tossed out the cigarette. They kept up a conversation until the soft knock at the door cut them off.  
“Dinner.” the soft voice behind the door said. Warren looked to Micah, looking for confirmation that he wanted to leave the safety of the room. Micah was smiling, feeling something new. Not anger. Not numbness. Excitement. He was on his feet in seconds, his hand on the doorknob.

He followed the smell right into the dining room, everyone was already sitting down. Two spots right next to each other were left open, right on the end. The room was filled with talking and laughter. He’d never seen a table so big before. It fit everyone and the food with room the spare. The entire table was covered in warm food, ranging from mac and cheese to turkey. He felt his heart jump at the scene playing out in front of him. It was like this was straight out of a Christmas movie. He glanced back, seeing Warren right behind him, looking for confirmation.   
“You can sit on the end.” he had said before passing him, sitting next to one of the girls, leaving one last chair for Micah. Once he was seated, food was quickly getting passed around. It was when he was seated he realized he never ended up showering. He felt like a spotlight was on him. Everyone else was freshly showered, wearing clean clothes, and had freshly brushed teeth. Then there was this greasy, grimy, dirt covered kid who refused to use the hospital showers one last time because he just wanted to leave ASAP. 

Dreaming of being apart of a real family and getting the experience weren’t even close to the same. It was overwhelming. He would’ve freaked out, but there was a strong hand holding onto his under the table. He didn’t remember when that happened, but he slowly let his fingers grip onto the hand. Micah took some of every food item that was available. His plate was completely covered, Warren offered his own plate when Micah went to grab some sweet potatoes but found that he had no room left. Was he going to finish all of this? Probably not, but he wanted to savor every moment. He didn’t end up participating in the conversation, and no one seemed to push him to try. His head was down, using his free arm to shovel food into his mouth.   
“Save room for dessert…” a soft voice broke his trance, causing him to look at the chuckling Warren, who’s plate was empty. “There will be leftovers, I’ll be sure to save you some.” With that, the redhead sat up, staring at the plate filled with half-eaten foods.   
“If you don’t, I’ll be mad”  
“Aren’t you always?” 

When the pies were set out, that’s when the conversation shifted from humorous family memories to curiosity about the new kid sitting with them.  
“So you live here?” The uncle said, causing the table to fall quiet.   
“Uh...yeah…” he slumped down in his seat, feeling eyes on him.   
“Your whole life?”  
“Yeah…”   
“So you-”  
“Don’t interrogate him.” Warrens voice was cold, hard, completely different from what he’d sounded like before.   
“Just making conversation…” The uncle- whose name was Thomas, everyone called him Tom, retorted. “Why aren’t you with family? It’s a family holiday and you’re here with us?” Micah's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly.   
“We don’t celebrate holidays.”   
“No one does? Mom? Dad? No one?”  
This time Micah’s back stiffened. “I don’t have a mom.”   
This response made the entire room fall quiet. Warrens chair scratched against the ground as he stood up, his hand still holding onto the teenagers. Micah was quickly pulled out of the dining room. Once they were back in the safety of the bedroom, Warren let out an irritated sigh.   
“Sorry about him, he’s just- he” he let out an annoyed groan. “He’s an asshole.”  
His hands gripped at his hair before letting it fall back in his face. It was starting to curl at the ends. Micah couldn’t understand why this was angering Warren so much, yeah the questions were invasive, but wasn’t he the one that was supposed to be angry about this?  
“Why is this bugging you so much?” Micah was blunt, he wasn’t sure how else to ask someone about their emotions.   
“Cause He’s…” Warren started, shifting slightly on his heels. “He’s not keen on the idea of me bringing boys over…” Micah's eyes went wide as things started connecting in his head.   
“They think I’m your boyfriend?”   
“Sorta, I never said you were.”   
“They just think any gross boy you bring to Thanksgiving is your boyfriend?”  
“The last guy was…”   
Micah seemed to be drawing lines, trying to piece this all together.   
“So… you’re gay?” Warren faltered slightly, biting the inside of his cheek. He seemed to be weighing his options. Like he was trying to gauge how Micah would react to this kind of news. After about a minute of awkward silence, Micah let out a soft chuckle. That chuckle quickly grew into full-blown laughter. Eventually, he was gasping for breath, clutching his chest as he forced in the air between his laughs.   
“What’s so funny?”  
“I thought you were just the embodiment of non-toxic masculinity” Micah finally got out. “You come off as this heterosexual dude-man, it never even crossed my mind.” Warren started stuttering out words, trying to make a sentence. This wasn’t what he expected at all.   
“So you don’t mind? I promise I’m not gonna...try anything. A lot of my friends were worried about me ‘crushing on them’ when they-”  
“Dude.” Micah cut him off, sitting down on the bed. “Of course I don’t mind.” Grabbing the remote, turning the TV on. “Whatcha got on this fancy thing anyway?” 

Warren showed Micah how to switch from Netflix to Hulu, scrolling through shows and movies.   
“How about this one? Have you seen it?”  
“Warren, hate to break it to you, but I haven’t seen anything.”  
“Oh no! How are you even alive? We’re watching this. You’re gonna sit there and watch this and enjoy it.”  
“Yes, sir.” Micah rolled his eyes, leaning back against the top of the bed frame. Warren was laying down next to him on the bed, watching with excitement in his eyes. He kept looking over at Micah to be reassured.   
“That guy! He’s my favorite character…” he said softly, pointing at the screen. 

By the time Warren went to play the second episode, after asking repeatedly if he liked the show, they were interrupted by a knock at the door again.   
“Yeah?” Warren called, not bothering to move from his spot.  
“I’m headed out, kid, allow me to come in?” Micah recognized the voice, a dark smirk fell on his face.  
“Hey.” he whispered, “just go with it.” Micah curled up right next to his, pulling the other's arm around him, placing his head on his chest, entangling their legs. He could hear Warrens heart slowly beating faster.  
“Uh...um… yeah! Come- come in.” He cleared his throat, the doorknob turning. The look on Tom’s face was priceless. The way he wanted to pretend like he didn’t find it revolting.   
“I’ll see ya at Christmas?”   
“Yeah!” The door closed. Warren felt Micah's weight start to come off of him. His face had started turning red. Micah was laughing.  
“Oh man, his face. Priceless!” When Micah looked at Warren, with that smile, a smile that actually looked happy. His heart skipped a beat. He wanted to ask why he’d do that, pretend like they were together, but was afraid the answer might just be “to mess with him.” Warren remembered that first night at the hospital when Micah woke up screaming. How easily the other had clung to him, how he had allowed Warren to hold him. How even in the morning, he didn’t let go until a nurse wanted to check his wounds. He wondered if this was the true Micah, the one behind the anger.   
“Do you wanna spend the night?” Warren asked before even processing that he wanted to ask. The sudden question caught both of them off guard.   
“Uh...sure… I guess?” Micah looked away, his hair falling over his face. Warren picked up that it was a habit of his, something he did to put more of a wall up between him and something else.  
“You don’t have to…” He thought he was being too pushy, probably making him uncomfortable. He just told this kid he was gay, of course, he wouldn’t wanna spend the night.  
“It’s not like I’ve got somewhere else to go…” Micah’s fingernails were picking at scabs on his arms. Those wounds would heal a lot faster if the redhead stopped picking at them. “Wanna play the next episode?”   
The two simply watched the show. Warren would explain things and Micah was more interested in how passionate he was than any of the subtle hints he was pointing out. Eventually, Warren was sitting up, Micah was laying down in front of him. The brunette lightly placed his fingertips on the top of Micah’s hair, watching him flinch then quickly relaxing. Warren ran his fingers lightly through the greasy hair, pulling out a few knots. He pushed back the red hair, seeing all of Micah’s face for the first time. He would’ve stopped time if he could, take in the story that Micah’s entire face told. He’d never seen such nasty scars be so easily covered by hair. There was one cut right through his right eyebrow and one running along the side of his face. The rest were small and barely noticeable compared to these two. Instead of taking in the horror he’d seen, he simply kept running his fingers through the hair of the other, pretending to be unphased by the scars. Micah was slowly leaning into the soft touch, almost like a cat, he moved so his head was in Warrens lap. They stayed like that until Warren looked down to find the grungy boy asleep. 

Warren had moved to the floor, using extra blankets and pillows to form a makeshift bed for himself. He had started drifting off when he heard blankets rustling around and the familiar squeak of his bedsprings.

He never could recall what his dreams were about, he just could recall the feelings he had during them. So when he woke up and found himself crying once again with strong arms around him, all he could think about was how hard it was to breathe. It felt like he was suffocating. He took in a sharp intake of breath and his chest burned. Hyperventilating, that’s what everyone told him this was. It took almost a half hour for him to catch his breath again, pulling away from the safety of Warrens' arms.  
“I need a beer…” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes before grabbing the fresh pack of cigarettes. Micah left early the next morning. He spent the rest of the break in a drunken haze. 

He was aware that Monday had rolled around, and that he was supposed to be at school. Instead, he was opening another bottle, trying to stay in this haze. The idea of being sober was too much to handle, let alone actually being sober. He had no perception of time, all he knew was that it was moving without him. Then there was a knock on his window. The blinds were falling apart, there was a large hole in the middle of it, so it didn’t do a whole lot. He looked over to see some curly brown hair peeking in through the hole.  
“Go away,” he yelled, pushing himself to his feet.  
“The janitor found your phone, it was really messed up so I uh… I got it fixed for you…”   
Micah pulled open the blinds, seeing Warrens stupid grin, holding up his cellphone.   
“Why would you do that?”  
“To be nice.”  
“That’s idiotic.”  
“Just take the damn thing.”  
Micah unlocked the window, yanking hard on it. There was a loud scraping sound as it opened up.  
“Hi- Are you drunk?”   
“Now why would I do something like that?” He grabbed the phone from the others hand, carefully calculating where to grab. He thought his plan was full proof, but he missed anyway.  
“Micah!”  
“What?”  
“It’s not even three yet!”  
“Alcohol doesn’t obey the rules of time.”  
Warren managed to get half of his body through the window,, seeing the vast amount of empty bottles littering the floor now. He knew Micah was self-destructive, but this looked like days of drinking. No one could be that bad and have it go unnoticed.   
“When was the last time you were sober?” He asked, seeing the box he bought for him merely days ago now empty. There was silence.   
“What day is it?”  
“Monday...”  
“Thursday.” 

Wednesday. Micah knew it was Wednesday because Warren had messaged him telling him it was Wednesday. He still hadn’t gone to school, still hadn’t been sober. Although he was running low on what he could drink, so he slowed down a lot. He saw his phone light up again, another message from Warren.  
“Plan on showing up?” He ignored it.  
“I’ll grab your homework again.” Once again the message went ignored.   
His head was pounding, his eyes hurt. He knew he couldn’t live a life like this, it wasn’t any better than being empty all the time. He pushed himself up, going to grab a new bottle, but his hand grabbed at air instead. His eyes glanced down and found that he finally drank everything he had. Now he didn’t have cigarettes or alcohol. Warren told him he wouldn’t be getting him another box of cigarettes for a few more days. Something about “regulating how much he smokes” and needing to “gain some control over the habit.” So he was out of luck. Micah shot up when he heard the front door slam closed. He’d successfully drank away the paranoia of Wallace coming home, so it came back in a heavy and strong wave. He slowly stood up, maybe he could sneak out through the window. But the window was loud to open and he wouldn’t have time to close it as well. If he left his window open, Wallace wouldn’t close it. This was the first time he’d see his dad since the accident, and he knew how he was going to react. Not only was he mad about his car being wrecked and getting hospitalized, but now Micah drank all the booze. He was dead. There was no way he could escape through the window, but maybe he could hide? His closet had a spot in the back he had made when he was ten years old, meant for him to hide in. He wasn’t sure he’d fit anymore, or if it would be a good hiding spot. He might just be a sitting duck there. Hiding under his bed was out of the question, his frame broke last year, his mattress was just on the ground now. He was a sitting duck anyway, so he decided to face the threat head-on. He opened the door and walked out to the living room. At first, Wallace didn’t process him being there, but once he did, there wasn’t much else to do except let things play out. The fists kept coming down on him, he was unable to process the sting of a punch before getting hit again. His body was yanked around, slamming into the wall and the table, being pushed to the ground. He was kicked and punched. You read about people who get beat to death, how their faces are smashed in. Micah didn’t understand how someone could beat someone to death, how you could continue to pummel someone even after their bones concaved. He was seeing spots, the room was spinning. All he could see was the fist continuing to come down on him. The knuckles were bloodied, it was his blood. His blood was on those hands. Was he gonna die? Was he gonna become one of the stories kids read about? Was this how his life ended? Was he going to become one of the tragic “if only” stories that would be used for public awareness? I’m dying. His chest hurt, he couldn’t breathe anymore. Everything hurt so much. He wanted to let go, give in. He assumed it would be the knuckles of his dad that ended him, but when his windpipe was cut off, it sent him into a violent panic. The fingers gripped at his throat, crushing his windpipe. No air was breaking through. I’M DYING. His fingers tried to pry off the hand, using a last burst of energy to try and save himself. Then suddenly he felt light-headed, his body relaxed, his vision faded out, and he truly thought he didn’t exist anymore. He realized now, with the fading face of his dad staring down at him. That he wasn’t a hero. He was not a side character. He was the villain in his own story. If he died right here, right now, no one would mourn him. 

“I’ll be home right after I drop his stuff off, promise,” Warren said into the phone, turning the keys to start up the engine. “I’ll be there. Bye, mom.” He pressed the red button on the screen, plopping the phone down on the passenger seat. Asking teachers for Micah's work revealed a lot about how adults viewed him. It seemed like everyone had given up before even offering to help. It made his stomach clench. He had asked for any assignments the redhead hadn’t done, which turned out to be quite a bit. He planned on making sure Micah did enough to pass and understand the work he was doing. Perks of living in a smaller town, finding places wasn’t all that hard, so figuring out where Micah lived was easier than it should’ve been. Then again, everyone also knew about the trial that happened a few years back. A few minutes was all it took, and he was placing his car in park. He never went to the front door, he always went to the window. The last few times he’d shown up, Micah would answer after a few taps, but this time there wasn’t even movement in the room. He cupped his hands on the glass, looking through the hole, seeing nothing. Did he leave? Where would he go? He tapped a few more times, a little harder this time. Weird. The garage door creaked open, soon a beat up jeep was racing out of the driveway and that’s when the panic set in. He knew that wasn’t the car Micah drove that day, that car was trashed. But Micah also promised him he wouldn’t drive, would he lie? Would he try to die again?   
“Micah?” He yelled through the glass, this time banging on the window. “MICAH?” When he went unanswered for another minute, he pulled hard on the window. Micah complained about how the lock came undone easily, so he wasn’t too surprised when it creaked open. He pulled himself inside, finally seeing the inside of the house Micah lived in. his bed was just a mattress on the ground covered in tattered pillows and blankets. There were empty bottles covering the floor, plaster covering holes in the walls and the closet door was barely holding up.   
“Micah..?” he called again, heading towards the open bedroom door. His stomach dropped, he had a horrible feeling. This feeling caused him to pause for a moment, taking in a sharp breath before turning into the living room. Once again he saw a bloody scene and a limp body of someone he cared for. 

He’d never driven so recklessly before in his life. Adrenaline was coursing through him and all he knew was he couldn’t wait for an ambulance to come to them, he needed to get Micah to them.   
“Don’t die, don’t die. Don’t be dead…” he was mumbling under his breath, rushing right past a stop sign. 

He ran through the automatic doors, barely letting the doors have time to open up for him. Doctors flooded towards them and Warren was quickly left behind. The last thing he saw was a doctor climbing on top of Micah and pushing hard on his chest. Warren patted down his pockets, realizing his phone was still in the car. His mind was still going in circles, but there was something in him letting him know he had other obligations to attend to. He knew from experience that there wasn’t anything he could do now. He just had to wait. He went back through the doors, heading back towards his car. Once he was safely seated in the driver's seat he called his mom. At least he meant to, but sometimes she’s not the one to answer. His dad had a habit of answering the phone even though it wasn’t for him.   
“Hello?”  
“Hey..”  
“Warren! Thought you’d be home by now? Mom’s getting worried-”  
“I’m at the hospital.” There was silence on the other end of the phone.   
“Same kid?”  
“Yeah, I’m gonna stay until I know what happened…”  
“Son, you can’t keep trying to save everyone…sometimes people just ruin their own lives and you can’t make them change…”   
“I know.”  
“I love you.”  
“Love you too.” He hung up.   
He placed his phone in his pocket, then opened the glove compartment. He grabbed a bag before exiting his car. 

It was hours before a doctor came out and asked for him, letting him know that Micah was alive and stable.   
“Oh thank god…” Warren let out a shaky breath. He didn’t know if he could handle any more death.   
“Do you know how he got the injuries?” The doctor’s voice was hushed.  
“I don’t have any real evidence.” Warren tensed up, angry that he couldn’t prove what that monster had done to his friend. “But yes.” The doctor nodded knowingly, let out a sigh, then gave Warren permission to go into the room. Unlike last time, Micah wasn’t awake. He wasn’t giving him an eye roll and muttering about how he didn’t need to be babysat. There wasn’t any protesting. Instead, Micah was bandaged nearly head to toe, machines connected to his body, an IV drip in his arm, and an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. Warren was tired of seeing such a familiar scene.   
“You always chose the messed up ones, Warren.”  
He felt the need to save others, that’s what his therapist told him. Warren needed to be a savior, so he clung onto people that only had one outcome. He really thought he broke the cycle, but even the most put together people seemed to need saving. Only this time he wasn’t looking for the signs, and he missed all of it.   
“You feel guilty?”  
“Yes! It’s my fault, I was so focused on NOT saving people, so I was ignoring the signs-”  
“Warren, his suicide is not your fault, you can’t blame yourself.”  
“Maybe if I was a better friend-”  
“You can’t save everyone.”  
“I could’ve saved him.”  
Warren started pulling up a chair, but he couldn’t bring himself to deal with this again. His hand went to his back pocket, taking out the ziplock filled with tiny white pills. He slipped four into his mouth before dry swallowing them. The baggy went back to his pocket and he sat down in the chair. He felt a sense of calm rush over him, quickly pushing him into a cloud of euphoria. Within minutes he was passed out cold.

Micah woke up first, feeling a familiar ache over his body. His eyes and ears quickly adjusted to familiar lighting and sounds. He still felt the hand gripping his neck, but he was breathing. Once again he was hospitalized.   
“I thought I told you that if I saw you here again I’d kill you.” A soft voice said before coming into his direct eyesight.  
“Nice to see you too, Zoey.” His voice was hoarse, scratchy like someone had crushed his windpipe.   
“How are you feeling?”  
“As good as I can be right now.” he cracked a small smile.  
“Your friend was really worried, he crashed pretty fast after he found out you were okay.”   
Micah’s eyes scanned over, realizing Warren was passed out in the chair.  
“He tends to wear himself out in worry…spends most of his time worrying about something.”   
“Seems like a good friend.”  
“I guess…”   
After getting interrogated on what happened to him, they pieced together the story. Micah was trying to buy more alcohol off of someone and it went wrong. No, he couldn’t give a name or a face. No, he had no idea where they were now. The police didn’t seem to believe him, but they couldn’t really do much unless Micah stated he was lying. He learned very quickly that no one on the laws side was going to help him, no matter how badly they wanted to. He left like he was doing them a favor by lying. This way they couldn’t feel bad when things go wrong. And things always go wrong.   
They prescribed pain meds, even though Micah said he didn’t need them.  
“Well, it’s there if you change your mind.”   
Like last time, he let the TV become background noise, letting it mute the other sounds around them. Warren slept for hours, it was a bit worrying honestly, but Micah didn’t try to wake him up. He had no idea how badly he needed some sleep, so he just let him. Zoey kept checking to see if Micah had fallen asleep, but the pain in his entire body kept him awake. Of course, he wasn’t going to admit to being in that much pain, so he lied again.  
“I closed my eyes and thought I was dead, so I’d rather not close my eyes just yet.”   
That successfully made everyone stop trying to get him to sleep, but Zoey made sure he couldn’t leave without a psych consult. More labels, more people claiming to want to help, more people unable to do anything.   
Finally, Warren woke up, Rubbing his eyes and giving a weak, uncharacter-like smile.  
“Morning, Prince Charming,” Micah muttered, his body fighting to sleep.  
“How are you feeling?”  
“Fine.”  
“Does it hurt?”  
Micah simply shrugged.  
“I’ll see if they can up your morphine or something-”  
“No. I’m fine. I don’t want the meds.”  
This seemed to make Warren shift in his seat.   
“What do you mean you don’t want them?”  
“I don’t like how they make me feel…” Micah grimaced. He lived his life feeling empty. Medication just made it worse.  
“Maybe fill the prescription just in case?”  
“Why would I do that?”  
“I...don’t know…”   
The room went silent. After a few minutes, Micah snapped his fingers to get the curly-cues attention.  
“Scoot closer…” the chair slowly scrapped against the floor before ending up at his bedside.  
“What’s the matter?”  
“Hold my hand.”  
He’d never seen someone’s face get so red so fast, but Warren grabbed his hand. He was barely gripping him, scared of hurting him.  
“Why?”  
“I’m tired.” Micah ignored every question after that. His eyes closed and he tried to focus on the weight in his hand instead. It was the soft rubbing that finally managed to soothe him to sleep.

After several days of testing, Micah finally managed to get himself discharged again. He let them do a psych test. They concluded several things that didn’t quite matter to him right now, so he chose not to listen. He simply nodded and agreed and said “yes, I understand” when asked. Warren had refused to leave his side. He was worse than the last time he was hospitalized. The car accident was borderline suicidal and Warren seemed more protective now that Micah almost died by someone else’s hands. At first, it was nice. It was comforting. Now he was getting irritated.   
“I’m just going to walk.”  
“No, please let me drive you-”  
“No!” Micah had raised his voice. In the months the two had known each other, Micah made sure to not get angry at Warren. The anger made the brunette took a step away from him, putting his hands out in a defensive manner. He was expecting Micah to hit him again, that’s what made the angry boy take in a deep breath. “Anger management”, such a bogus skill to have. There wasn’t a way to manage this, just hold it in.   
“I want to walk, okay?”  
“Are you going home?”  
“Of course not.”  
“You can stay at-”  
“No. I got another place to crash at.” He didn’t bother saying goodbye or even properly ending the conversation. He walked out the automatic doors and took off in a run.   
His feet hit the ground, one after the other, at a steady pace. The cold winter air dive-bombed into his lungs when he took in a sharp breath. His nose and cheeks were red from the cold, his fingers were starting to go numb. It was weird to feel so much cold then none at all. The familiar state of being trapped in a body returned to him. He almost forgot what it felt like, he had been grounded for so long. He skidded around the corner, looking up at the path ahead of him, then pushing off the ground. He let his feet bring him from point A to point B as fast as they could, wanting to take the last bit of oxygen left in his lungs. He wanted to exhaust his body quickly then force it to continue going. He wanted to feet his heart pound on the inside of his chest, to feel the blood pump through his veins, to feel his blood try to properly oxygenate his body. He continued pushing forward, he ran and he ran. He kept going until he wanted to throw up, then kept pushing on. He only stopped when his legs gave out under him. He managed to soften the blow with his hands, sliding on the gravel road for a few feet before his body finally lost its momentum.   
Micah went to push himself back onto his feet, but couldn’t. He physically could not do that. He pushed his body further than he intended to, but it felt good. Feeling his body want to live, to forcefully shut him down so it could continue functioning. He rolled onto his back, seeing a bright blue sky casting down on him. The clouds were scattered, barely covering up the sun. He lived in this small town his entire life, but it felt like he’d never seen the sky before. He spent almost eighteen years looking at the ground. The ground covered in potholes, cracks, and overgrowth. The ugly ground that humans had destroyed. Humans can’t touch the sky. They can’t ruin it. The sky was what things were meant to look like, and Micah had finally gotten the chance to see it. A light chuckle bubbled up, he caught himself smiling.   
“Not so bad,” he mumbled to himself, waiting for his body to catch up with him.   
Even after he caught his breath, he stayed on the ground. He watched the clouds drift across the sky, getting lost in the idea of it all. It was when the sky was getting too dark to see that he finally stood up.  
He may have lied to Warren, he didn’t have another place to go. But now it was too awkward to ask to crash at his place, it would probably show he was bluffing. Obviously going home wasn’t an option anymore. He needed a plan, but tonight wasn’t the night to figure that out. The bench it was. There was a park, small and nothing special, but the only one close enough to bother walking to. He found comfort in this park, he used to walk here when he was a kid and hide under the slide until his dad fell asleep. When he was locked out of the house for a week at the age of 15, he slept on the bench every night. Long story short, this park was one of the few places he didn’t have too horrible memories at. He found himself sleeping on the benches a lot, actually. He managed to drag himself to this park, sitting down on the bench. The only light was from the street lamps, so the park wasn’t too lit up. It was a simple place, only had one small playground. One slide, two swings, one rocking duck and that was it. Not many parents decided to bring their kid here, there was a giant one just outside of town that was well worth the gas. He sat down on the bench, slowly laid down, curled up into himself for warmth, and closed his eyes.

 

He woke up to the sun bearing down on him, reflecting off the snow and directly into his eyes. He promised Warren he’d at least show up at school, never promised he’d be in class though.  
“One step at a time!”   
That’s what he said, with that stupid happy grin spread across his face. Micah pushed himself up, his neck aching from sleeping on wood and shivering from sleeping outside. He started walking towards the school, he had no idea what time it was, he was probably late, but hey! He promised to show up, not be on time.   
By the time he pulled open the familiar front doors, the hallways were empty. Yeah, he was late. He walked towards the office, greeting the security guy posted by the front. He pulled open the office door, greeting the lady behind the desk.   
“Hey.”  
“You showed up!”  
Adults were so condescending. Only adults spoke to him like he was a failure like he wasn’t going anywhere.  
“Yeah…”   
“Well you’re all checked in, let me write you a pass.”   
He was quickly walking up the stairs, knowing the eyes of a nosey desk lady were watching to make sure he went to class. Once safely hidden upstairs, he pulled out his phone.  
“Which class are you in?” He texted to Warren. He surprisingly got a response right away.  
“A202”  
At least his class was already on the second floor. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage to sneak back downstairs. He took a long way around, avoiding being in direct line of sight from the office, but easily found the classroom. The door was closed, obviously, a class was going on. He didn’t know why he felt the need to verify to this curly-Q that he did, in fact, show up for school today, but he was already standing in front of the classroom door anyway.   
“Come out.” The text was read right away, but no text bubble. Micah rocked on his heels, eventually leaning against the wall right next to the door. It felt like forever before the door creaked out.   
“Hey, stranger.” He smiled brightly before closing the door behind him. “Wasn’t sure you’d keep up on your promise.”  
“I don’t break promises.”   
“Are you gonna go to class?”   
“Didn’t plan on it…”  
“Micah…”   
“I showed up, remember? One step at a time.”  
“Yeah...whatever.” Warren chuckled softly. “I told Jefferson that I had to pee, so I-”  
“Can’t hang out with me?” the words came out before he could stop them. He felt his ears heat up.   
“You want me to skip class?”   
Micah shrugged, not wanting Warren to skip, but didn’t exactly want him to be in class either. He didn’t want to be a bad influence, but also would appreciate some company.   
“Okay, just for today. Since it’s your first day back…” Warren flashed a bright smile before lightly tugging at Micah’s sleeve, pulling him away from the classroom.   
Micah showed him this empty storage room by the band room, only ever used for when kids wanted to practice alone, but since Micah took it over, most kids avoided it. They sat on the floor, Warren was the one doing most of the talking, but that was because the first thirty minutes was nagging.  
“If you’re gonna skip, at least do the homework you missed.”  
“Now why would I do that?”  
“To pass.”  
“I am passing.”  
“No, you aren’t”  
“You’re right, I’m not, but why do you care?”  
“Cause I do.”  
So to make him stop talking, Micah said he’d do the homework. Although, that plan didn’t go as planned because Warren continued to talk. Only now he was trying to explain the lectures he missed, so he understood the homework. Another half hour passed, Micah surrounded by different piles of papers. Each class had its own “not done” and “done” pile, courtesy of Warren. Micah would just throw the finished assignments at him and he placed them in the corresponding pile. He almost forgot he was actually in the school building, but when the bell rang loudly through the halls, Micah very quickly remembered. The sudden noise made him jump, throwing the pile he was sifting through, and causing papers to go flying.   
“Shit…” he muttered to himself, quickly trying to clean the mess up.  
“I’ll get it…” Warren said, both grasping for loose papers and trying to fix up the piles, meanwhile, eyes of passing students lingered as they passed the door. The small window in the door allowing them to clearly see the schools golden boy hanging out with the schools delinquent. Rumors spread quickly, but rumors about this spread even faster. There were several theories:   
Warren was on another savior-complex thing of his.  
Micah was being blackmailed.   
They were an item.  
This was Micah’s punishment for that fight over a month ago.   
Although no one bothered asking either student about which one was correct, so the theories kept getting deeper and more wildly incorrect. The two spent the whole day in the room, by the end of the school day, Micah managed to make a dent in the large pile of papers.   
“I’m so proud of you!” Warren clapped his hands together, giving the biggest smile Micah had ever seen. He felt a lump in his throat. No one had ever said that to him, no one ever believed in him.   
“Sh-shut up!” Micah stuttered, hiding his face behind his hair.

They spent Micah’s first week back in that room. After day three Micah tried to get Warren to go to class, but Warren refused.  
“I’ll go to class when you go to class.”  
“That’s idiotic! You’re gonna fall behind!”  
“Sounds bold coming from someone already behind.”   
So they settled, Warren would go to class when Micah did. It was the last hour on Friday when Micah finally ran out of homework to do. He had run out of his excuse to NOT go to class. His stomach turned over at the thought of leaving his safety room.  
“You can go back next week instead?” Warren offered.   
“Yeah…” he wasn’t sold on the idea of continuing to put this off. He’d just continue to find a reason to not go.   
“Or you could at least try and go?”  
“Yeah…”  
“I’ll walk with you.”   
Warren stood up then held his hand out, which Micah quickly grabbed. Warren was currently in charge of all the finished assignments.   
“Gotta make sure they actually get turned in.”  
They slowly exited the safety of the quiet room and headed down the hallway. A104. It wasn’t that long of a walk, but it felt like time slowed down the closer he was getting to the door.  
“I don’t want to.”  
“At least let me turn in your assignments? If you’re too overwhelmed we can hang in the library instead.”   
Warrens free hand was on the doorknob, waiting for a response from his friend. He gripped onto Micah's hand tighter.   
“Fine.”   
The door was pushed open and suddenly the two were there for the whole class to see, hands interlocked. People were staring at him. He was the center of attention right now. His heart immediately started racing, pounding against his chest. His face got hot, it felt like a spotlight was aimed right at him. He pulled his hand out of Warrens grip and hid behind the door. Warren didn’t seem to notice how people were staring. Micah wondered how great it must be to be so oblivious to such a thing.  
“Sorry to interrupt!” his happy tone filled the silence. “Just turning in missing assignments.” he held out the stack that was marked “biology”.   
“Leave them on my desk, please.” Micah heard his voice reply. Footsteps echoed off the walls before Warrens curly hair was peaking over at him.   
“Let's go…” 

Once they were settled at a table, Warren slowly adding more and more books to the pile growing in front of Micah. He kept running back and forth to find specific books he really liked and wanted to see if Micah would like them too. Micah simply watched, but the quiet solitude was once again broken.  
“Hey.” Micah turned to see a tall boy with ginger hair staring down at him. He knew this guy, he was in his biology class. What was he doing here?   
“Uh….” Micah glanced over at Warren who was skimming through a book about butterflies. “Hi…”   
“We got biology together? I’m Caleb.”  
“I know.”  
“Oh? Sorry then! I noticed you were back at school, but haven’t been to class.”   
“So?”  
“I made a copy of my notes.” Caleb plopped a notebook onto the table.   
“Thanks.”  
“No problem.”  
There was an awkward silence. Why didn’t he leave yet? Was he waiting for something else? Someone else?  
“Are you free tonight?” Micah froze up. Why was he asking? Why was he even talking to him?   
“Why?”  
“I’m hosting a party, heard that kind of stuff is right up your alley.”  
“I guess.”  
“Awesome, I wrote all the info in the notebook for you. I look forward to seeing you.” with that, he walked away. Micah didn’t have a lot of time to be dumbfounded before Warren came back over.  
“What did he want?”  
“He invited me to a party?”  
“You gonna go?”  
Micah shrugged.   
“I’ll go with you. A party sounds like fun.”

Warren sat down, deciding against picking out more books for the time being. Instead, he grabbed the book on top of his stack and proceeded to explain the plot. One after another, he explained each book, Micah wrote down the titles, Warren offered to let him borrow his copy, Micah laughed at him, called him a nerd, Warren pretended to be offended, onto the next book. By the time the final bell rang, they only got through a handful of books.   
“Back to my house?”  
“Sure.”

When Warren unlocked his front door, Micah was greeted with silence this time. There wasn’t anyone else currently at the house, leaving it oddly quiet. They shuffled into the tiny bedroom and slumped onto the bed. Warren grabbed the remote.  
“Actually-” Micah stopped him before the TV was turned on. “You should grab one of those books…” he mumbled awkwardly.   
“Oh? Do you wanna read one?”  
“You should read one...to me…”   
Warrens entire face went a deep shade of red, freezing up for a solid second before clearing his throat.  
“Yeah, I can do that…” He went to the dresser. Instead of a real bookshelf, he had cleared out an entire drawer for his books instead. He quickly found what he was looking for before coming back to the bed.   
“Get comfortable!” a bright smile covered his face.   
Within minutes, Warren was propped up against the headboard and Micah was sitting beside him, reading over his shoulder and following along to Warrens' voice. Every now and then Warren stopped to explain something or check to make sure Micah even understood what was happening.  
“God you’re like a teacher, Warren, just read the book.”  
“I just wanna make sure.”   
It wasn’t until Warren hit chapter five that the two realized they probably should discuss the party they planned on going to that night. More like Warren insisted on it.  
“Just some ground rules, okay?”  
“What are you? My father? It’s a party, there aren’t any rules.”  
“Well, I’m setting some.”  
Micah raised an eyebrow, a bit curious about where this was going.  
“Like your smoking habits, I want you to start pacing yourself, okay?”  
“What are you saying?”  
“Two beers tonight, that’s it.”  
“TWO-?!”  
“And that’s it!”  
“You’re no fun.”  
“I know, and you have to drink water in between and you won’t be going on an empty stomach”  
“This party is gonna be lame.”  
“You’re lame”  
“You take that back!”

4897 Patterson Street, 9PM. Come alone ;)  
“Is he flirting with you?” Warrens voice had a hint of shock and a lot of irritation in his tone.  
“Why would he do that?” Micah retorted. “He doesn’t know my sexuality.”  
“I don’t even know actually-”  
“And you never will.”  
Warren drove them to a small restaurant that was on a corner street, insisting Micah ate before they headed out. It was currently only eight and Warren had spent much of the time in between insisting Micah changed clothes. Now Micah was wearing an entire outfit consisting of Warrens clothes. Clean, white, v-neck, T-shirt, hole free, and black jeans, hole free. Micah refused to borrow a pair of shoes but took the black leather jacket. It felt nice wearing clothes that were recently cleaned.   
“You’re paying, right?” Micah started, staring at the menu. “Since this is a date-” he started teasing but was cut off with Warren quickly responding.  
“It’s not a date. Yes, I’m paying.”   
Their dinner wasn’t all that exciting, it mostly was Warren repeating the rules for the night and making sure Micah ate enough.

Showing up to a party after the incident at his last one felt...odd. His stomach dropped at the sound of the music. He would’ve turned back and left if Warren wasn’t there. Maybe he should tell him… maybe he’d listen to him…maybe he could help him with this? The louder the music got, the more he convinced himself how horrible of an idea it would be to announce that he found the dead kid over a month ago. How could Warren possibly help him with that? Who could possibly understand how he feels? He planned on drinking more than Warren was giving him permission to, he needed to. He’d rather die than have an attack in such a crowded space. The boys were greeted by the one and only man that invited them, but he seemed annoyed that Warren showed up to. In fact, he didn’t even look at him.   
“Hey! Glad to see you make it.” his voice was a bit off-putting, there was something off about it. “C’mon, lemme get you a drink.” a firm hand was on his arm and he was quickly yanked into the crowd. When Micah looked back to grab Warren, he found himself lost. Great. Not only was he at a party again, but he was also at a party alone again.   
“To the future.” Caleb held out Micah's beer, giving an off-putting smile. There was another reason for all of this. No one suddenly becomes interested in someone without a reason.   
“What do you want?” Micah asked before properly thinking.  
“I just wanna get to know ya, is that so bad? Just have a drink, loosen up.”   
Micah didn’t argue with that, he chugged the liquid from the can, placing it on the counter when it was empty. He could hear Warrens nagging voice in the back of his head.  
“You have to drink water in between.”  
Before he could even ask for a glass of water, another can was in his hand.   
“Two beers tonight, that’s it”  
He took his time with this one, at least he meant to, but Caleb was making him anxious. He kept referring to that last party. He kept talking about it. Like he was there like he saw that scene...like he knew what Micah felt like. He was getting angry, he felt that bubble slowly get bigger.   
“I should probably find that bookworm,” Micah said, in an attempt to get out of this situation.   
“Oh? he’s right there.” a long finger pointed right behind him, a glance back and sure enough, he saw his bookworm wandering closer.  
“Oh there-” he stopped speaking when a strong arm wrapped itself around his shoulders. “He is…” he took a side step, trying to slip himself out, but Caleb moved with him.   
“You’re still all wound up…” Caleb said with a sly tone, using his other hand to turn Micah's head towards him. “Just let loose, Micah.”   
He was going to vomit. He was going to throw up everything he ate for dinner. He really felt like he would. He felt himself physically step out of his body. He never dissociated so quickly. He didn't’ want to be here. Mentally or physically. He’d rather be dead. No amount of dissociating could make him NOT feel those lips hit his neck. His head was reeling, those lips were still there. He was stuck. Why wasn’t he pulling away? Throwing punches? Spewing some horrible words at him? He wasn’t the one to make the kissing stop, he wished he was, he wished he had the strength to pull away. It was Warren that stopped it. He pulled Caleb off of Micah, quickly placing himself between the two bodies.  
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Warren was angry, Warren was never angry.  
“Having some fun. You should try it.”  
“Keep your filthy tongue off of my-” he bit his tongue.  
“Boyfriend?”  
“He’s not my-”  
“He’s not your boyfriend, Feilds. Remember that.”  
Something out of the ordinary happened. Warren pulled his arm back and clocked Caleb in the nose. The entire party seemed to go quiet, looking over at the weird scene that played out in front of them. Golden boy, Warren, was not only at a party, but he hit someone on purpose. 

Warren doesn’t like talking about that night very much, it gets him all wound up. Micah knows how his shoulders tense up and his jaw clenches at the smallest mention of that night. They had left right after that punch, going back to Warrens house, and staying in for the night. Micah managed to sneak three clouds of smoke in before Warren noticed anything. He just couldn’t get that feeling off his lips and the taste out of his mouth. Warren did keep his promise on though, Micah got two drinks that night.   
Warren threw on a movie, he spent the first half explaining why the movie was so good then spent the last half sleeping. Both boys fell asleep on the bed, the nights' events easily wearing them down. Although, Warren didn’t stay asleep for very long before getting woken up by familiar tossing and turning. The brunette reached over, softly touching Micah's shoulder, watching his body with the soft glow from the TV. He watched how his body flinched away from something, soft whimpers escaping his lungs. Warrens fingers slowly ran through maroon hair, feeling the cold sweat-plastered to his friends’ skin. Nightmares. He could only imagine what kind of nightmares you had to be having to cause reactions like this.   
“Micah?” he called out softly, seeing the boys face scrunch up. He went still for about a minute, Warren hoped that meant the nightmare was finished, but then Micah suddenly shot up, suddenly taking in a sharp, loud breath. He went from being fast asleep to wide awake in less than a second.   
“Hey- Micah?” Warren slowly pushed himself up as well, his fingers rubbing light circles on Micah's back. “Hey, come here… you’re okay…”   
Neither of them got a lot of sleep, Micah kept having nightmares and would wake Warren up with his tossing and turning. They were on nightmare number five of the night, Warren woke up, Micah did not. Warren attempted to just be comforting, he rubbed small circles in the small of the others back, played with the maroon hair, and held him close to his chest, but Micah was still stuck in the nightmare. It made his stomach ache.   
“Wake up.” Warren shook Micah's tense body slightly. “Micah?” Usually, he woke himself up, scared wide awake, but he was still out cold.   
“Micah?” he spoke louder, shaking a bit harder.   
“GET OFF ME!” Micah pulled back, putting distance between himself and Warren. He shot right off the bed, his hands up in a defensive manner. Warren saw the look in his eyes as the TV light shined on his face. Desperation. Silence had fallen in the room, Warren stayed as still as possible so he didn’t startle his friend.   
“Warren?” Micah’s voice finally called out, his eyes focusing on familiar curls and a concerned look. “That you?”  
“ it’s me.”  
Micah let out a sigh of relief, dropping his hands before crawling back into the bed.   
“What was it about?”  
“Hm?”  
“Your dream...what was it about?”  
“Doesn’t matter.” 

“Breakfast?” Warren asked, watching how Micah curled into himself under the blanket. He wasn’t given a response, barely even a glance.   
“I can make some waffles? Or I can run out and buy something?” There still wasn’t a response. Warren had been trying to start a conversation all morning, but Micah stayed quiet. His blank eyes stared off into the open space. It was a bit frightening, to be honest. He’d never seen someone look this empty.   
“Want to be alone?” He asked finally, wondering if his presence was doing anything. Micah shook his head, finally glancing at him. Now, this look Warren had seen before. The look of complete hopelessness for something better to come along. The look of desperation for life to simply hand over a break.   
“Hungry?” He received another head shake.   
“Want me to read?” Warren watched Micah's brown eyes widen slightly before looking at him again. This time he received a nod.   
“Okay…” He grabbed the book off of the dresser, where he had placed it the night before, and laid back down on the mattress. Micah rolled over to face him, lifting his head up just enough to place it back down on Warrens' chest. Warren started reading, assuming he’d be stopped when Micah was ready for something else. He kept reading. He flipped the page, finished chapters, and flew right through the page numbers until he heard the sound of a car door closing.

By the time night rolled its head back around, Warren had left to eat dinner with the family, leaving Micah alone for much of the night- per his request. Micah didn’t want to stop Warren from doing family related things, no matter how small it seemed. He continued to read the book they had started, wanting to distract himself. He would’ve watched TV or something, but noise was overwhelming, so he stuck to the book. He could hear soft murmurs of the conversation happening in the dining room, but nothing he could make out. It seemed to be all good, no one was yelling, no one sounded upset. He took a deep breath, leaned back against the pillows, and let himself get lost in the book once again.   
When Warren finally came back up from the dinner though, he seemed off.   
“Are you okay?”   
“Never better.” Warren gave a giant grin, but his eyes seemed a bit glossed over. It was like he wasn’t entirely there.  
“Are you stoned?!” Micah’s anger quickly spiked. He was standing in seconds.  
“High on what? I don’t have access to anything.” Warren quickly went to defend himself, Micah didn’t seem to buy into that though.   
“C’mon, you think I’d be on something when you’re here?”   
“I’m leaving,” Micah muttered, shoving right past the first person he thought wasn’t gonna fuck him over.   
“Micah? Wait! Listen to me-”  
“No.”  
The redhead slammed the door behind him, pushing off the steps and quickly taking off in a run. He would’ve continued to run until he collapsed, but he could only get so far before it felt like his lungs were collapsing. He was gasping for air, his chest and throat burned. It felt like that hand was gripping onto him all over again. He suddenly became very aware of how much pain his physical body was in.   
He sat down on the curb, his head between his knees as he gasped for a normal breath. He wasn’t sure if half the pain he felt was even real. Maybe he was hallucinating. He hoped he was hallucinating. He barely registered the small vibration his phone set off. With shaking hands, he pulled out the phone, seeing a message from a number he didn’t have saved.  
“You have a prescription ready”  
He felt completely paralyzed, he couldn’t do something as simple as breathing. He’d go to take in a breath, and nothing would come through. No air, no oxygen, not even the cold from the air around him. He went light-headed, fell back, felt his entire body tense up before blacking out for a moment again.


End file.
